From Dublin
by Smother
Summary: A 'friend' from Michael's past pays him a visit with intentions to stop an attempt on his life. The only problem is that she's a key player in the assassination. // why yes, i do fail at summaries.


of course, all characters and stuff (except alex from Dublin) belong to matt nix and other **burn notice** folks.

happy reading. i love reviews ;D

* * *

_A downside of no longer being under the shadow of the people who burned me is that I am now a blazing red target for anyone and everyone who wants me dead._

_Gotta say, the rest of it is pretty great._

How Michael Westen didn't see her when he opened the gate was a mystery. But he sure as hell saw her sitting on the bottom few steps when he pulled the Charger in. She was playing with a switchblade and didn't even look up when he slowly opened the door, unfortunately on the same side she was.

"Bet you wish you had backed it in now," she said, blonde hair hiding the smile that played on her pretty face. Her voice carried a faint accent—Russian mixed with something closer to home.

"A little, yeah." Michael has his gun aimed at her in an instant, not at all surprised when she just looked up at him with the same casual smile. "Get up."

"Are you going to frisk me? You can see the switchblade, but you know I love having other little useful things in my pockets." She slowly rose, blade closed in her hand.

Hesitantly he took a step toward her. The smile widened.

_When dealing with someone you know can kill you, the best thing would be to _not_ get any closer to them. I guess I kind of forgot._

In a flash she had him pinned, knife biting the skin over his carotid artery. The gun that he'd held so securely a moment earlier slipped from his hand. "This is twice, Michael. I thought you were smarter than that," she whispered in his ear, pressing the painful hold a bit harder. "Now, are we really going to play this game? If you promise to behave, I'll let you go. I am not here to kill you."

He mumbled agreement and she loosened the hold. Relief tingled through his body as she put the switchblade in the pocket of her jeans. She took his hand and pressed the grip of the gun into his palm. "Why are you here then? You've never just dropped by unless it was to put a bullet in me."

She laughed, shaking her head. "Michael, if I had ever wanted to kill you, you would not have made it out of Dublin in anything but a body bag."

_Alex from Dublin. Assassin._

His expression turned cold. "You… blew up my place."

"Oh, don't look so surprised. You remember… Surely you still have a scar on your palm? Never mind Dublin, that was a long time ago." She sat down on the steps again, planting a hand on either side of her as if to stop him from going up. "No, I lied a little. I was sent to kill you—however!" She held up a hand as he started to raise his gun again. "I'm not going to. Rather, I'm here to keep you from being killed."

"Now who's after me? The same people? New folks? You know I love making friends."

"Golden Sun Security. You did something or another thing to get my boss's son on the chopping block for a murder that, yes, he did commit. My boss is a little more than pissed off at you, which is reasonable… However, when my boss gets pissed off, he doesn't go beat up a hooker or something with a slightly lower prison sentence."

"So working at Golden Sun Security is your cover for being a hit man… woman."

Alex grinned. "You understand. Perfect. Well, he sent two of his favourites after you. Normally we'd do things like terrorists and murderers and the like, but you—! Oh, you're special, Michael. You get me _and_ another favourite. Lucky, lucky."

"And you want to help me not get killed."

"Exactly. You are pretty smart after all."

"Not interested."

Her relaxed air seemed to chill, and the smile on her face vanished. "Look, Michael, I have known you were in Miami since day one. You are not untouchable."

"I can take care of myself." He stepped past her on his way up.

* * *

It was a bit unusual to be approached for a job in the parking lot of the store where he bought his yoghurt, but not alarming. After dropping the grocery bag into the back seat, he looked back up and almost jumped. "Michael Westen?" the man standing there asked timidly, plucking at a small piece of paper in his hands.

"Nope."

"I… I'm James Carson. I need your help."

Michael hesitated.

* * *

The crosshairs on Alex's scope danced between James and Michael as she watched the conversation unfold. The rifle rested comfortably against her left shoulder, making up for the less than comfortable settings. The desolate parking garage was slated to be destroyed next month and was rather eerie, but it made for an excellent nest. No one was there to stop her or interfere. When someone heard the shot, they'd probably think it was just another gang banger with a big gun taking out yet another gang banger with a smaller gun.

"James, you poor thing. No rules, no morals," she said in a singsong voice, amusing herself until she could take the shot.

* * *

"I'm not Michael Westen. Try again."

"Look, they took my kid. His name is Riley. He's ten. They just took him."

Michael sighed and closed the driver's side door.

* * *

"Poor Michael," Alex continued, tucking her hair back. "You just help and help…"

Through the scope, she saw the scene play out just as James had planned.

* * *

"Here's a photo," James said hurriedly, reaching to his pocket. Michael glanced away for a moment for the time and looked back to see the barrel of a handgun in his face.

* * *

"Poor James," Alex murmured.

* * *

_In some situations, there's simply no time to react. This was one. There was no way I could get into the Charger fast enough._

_Damnit._

Michael could have sworn his heart stopped before he ever felt a bullet. Except… he never felt a bullet. A spray of red erupted from the side of Carson's head and he crumpled like a doll. In the same instant, a gunshot popped from the parking garage nearby.

"Alex," Michael said, heart beating again. She waved from her vantage point and slipped into the darkness.

* * *

The awful thrill she got when she pulled the trigger set in oddly late. Just after she flagged down Michael, it hit her hard and she sank against the wall. Hurting, Alex pulled out her cell phone and dialed Michael's number. It barely rang.

"Alex, I'm assuming."

"Hello, Michael. I could use a ride. It's not so suspicious when someone walks down the sidewalk with a long black case _before_ a shooting, but it's pretty damn suspicious _after_ a shooting."

There was a heavy pause.

"I'll meet you at the bottom," she said, making up his mind for him.

"How did you get this number?"

"As I said before, you are _not_ untouchable." She hung up and began to disassemble her rifle, breaking it down to fit snugly in the case.

Her hands shook like leaves.


End file.
